Harry Potter and the Hostility of Hospitality
by Psuedonym62
Summary: complete:: Harry Potter was sentenced to Azkaban for life. Then, years later, an old friend comes and retrieves him. There is only one problem though, he doesn't seem sane... If you're looking for a good story that's not confusing, move on.
1. Release

A/N: At the moment, I'm writing a more chapters for this, but if you think it's better as a stand-alone, feel free to ignore my other chapters.

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Harry Potter and the Hostility of Hospitality

By: Pseudonym62

The gate to the dank and darkened cell creaked open, scraping along the uneven and scummy floor. A tall, cloaked figure croaked something out, it's voice simply a series of clicks, like popcorn almost, but much more sinister. The young man in the cell didn't react until the creature reached down and grasped the prisoner's chin, bringing the captive's face up to examine. Then the young man simply croaked in a similar fashion, throat dry and sore from screams. He didn't seem to be aware of the noise he was making, staring at a spot behind the tall figure's head.

The captive's hair was very messy, but for some reason, quite short, as if it hadn't grown a centimeter since he'd been imprisoned. The face was white and sallow, almost life-less, and streaks of dried blood covered much of his face, due to the cuts and scratches of constant abuse. His clothing was loose upon his body, and his weak shoulders barely kept his shirt from sliding down around him. He was too drained to sit or stand and spent most of the time lying on the cold stone cot they called a "bed". The tall creature pulled back the man's bangs, to inspect a small, lightning shaped scar. The scar was an angry red, and seemed to have been bleeding recently, and often. After confirming the inmate's identity, the creature let go. The man's head fell limply, leaving his once bright eyes to stare dully at the floor.

The floor had exactly two hundred and eighty four cobblestones in it, including the ones that were very small. The left wall had two hundred and fourteen, but there were three of them, and the total count for all the walls was six hundred and seventy three. The ceiling had two hundred and thirty one, and if you didn't believe any of that, you could have asked the prisoner. That is, not if you expected a response.

2 years ago, you might have gotten an answer, albeit a mildly screwy one, probably something along the lines of, "Oh yes, that's quite true, 1188 in total, but do you want to know how many Crumple-Horned Snorkacks there are as well? Eleventybillion and three! I counted myself."

3 years ago and your answer might be something more intelligible, "Yes, I know how many stones there are, but please! Get me out of here! Please, please, please, I'll do anything you want, anything, just please." After that conversation, the man in question would likely be reduced to a gibbering wreck if you didn't help him.

And so you see how the wizarding prison of Azkaban has wrought its, pardon the pun, magic upon one young man, famous before he could talk intelligably. His once emerald eyes were now quite dull and sunken. They lacked any sign of life at all, not even hatred, which had fled this horrid place long ago, leaving the man with nothing. They were now a grayish shade of green, unused to things such as sunlight and color.

The man's lack of thinking was interrupted as a bowl was plunked down in front of him by the guard, which by now you should have realized was a dementor. It was quickly filled with a gruel-like substance that appeared to be a serving of both food and drink it was so sloppy. A piece of bread was tossed in as well, the guard's treat for it's favorite prisoner. A throaty croak, which might have been a laugh, came from the dementor as the captive leaped upon the bowl as soon as the bread fell in and devoured all the "food" in seconds. There wasn't much of it to eat anyway. The man then wiped excess remains off his face and began to suck the scraps from his hand.

Most of the guards liked this prisoner because he never seemed to run dry of happy memories, but sadly for the captive, they were quickly grabbed by dementors before they ever had a chance to reach his consciousness. Dementors of course, as everyone knows, feed on the subconscious thoughts, which is why the conscious projection of a Patronus Charm affects them so much.

The guard moved on with it's rounds, and once finished, worked it's way back to the captive's cell, pausing at the cell of a newcomer, a shortish man with balding gray hair who cowered in fear, mumbling to himself.

The man appeared to be holding on a crumpled, lime green bowler hat for dear life, repeating over and over, "They won't throw me in prison, they can't!" However, they, whoever they were, didn't seem to agree, and did so anyway. The dementor luxuriated in the newer memories, and noticed there were still a few hiding that were waiting to be discovered and enjoyed. It filed away that information for later, and continued on.

Imagine the dementor's surprise when it reached a familiar cell to find it empty. Enraged, and a little worried, remembering how it's masters had reacted last time one of it's wards had escaped, began to look for the prisoner, and quickly. Using it's "eyes", it traced the familiar magical signature through the hallways, and with a bit of unease, noticed that the trail appeared to head for the exit. The dementor was so focused that it had yet to notice another distinct signature was also traveling along the prisoner's path.

By the time it reached the doors to the outside, it was definitely scared, dementors only feel pain when it's caused by other dementors, but it's quite excruciating for them when it happens, for they have no pain tolerance at all, really. The dementor was not looking forward to it's inevitable meeting with it's superiors. It glided past the warded room that was occupied by several aurors playing childish games to pass the time. That room also contained a newish piece of parchment signed by one minister of magic, calling for the release of one Harry James Potter. The aurors felt a moment of mild discomfort, but dismissed it as nothing. The room was so heavily warded, that even dementors had trouble projecting their effect inside of it.

The dementor reached the open doors, and looked out upon a dreary scene. The island had nothing growing on it to ease the eye, and the stone was damp, as usual from the incessant rain and fog. Through the rain, the dementor could see two figures getting into a boat, which seemed mildly familiar.

Gliding extremely fast, the dementor almost made it to the boat when suddenly, a silvery white, almost corporeal lethifold appeared out of nowhere, and wrapped itself around the dementor. The dementor panicked, surprised. The thing crushing it so slowly and painfully appeared to be a patronus, but the dementor couldn't escape from it! As the lethifold's grasp became stronger and stronger, the dementor shrunk in on itself, wondering what would happen if it was crushed, but unwilling to find out.

Just before the lethifold would have squeezed the essence out of the dementor, the patronus' strength faded, most likely due to it's caster's distance. The creature attacking the dementor seemed to drift away in pieces, but not before burning the dementor with it's weakened grip.

On a boat, which was quickly zooming towards a coastline, a blissfully unaware man sat in front of a completely unaware man and almost cried.

"Harry, oh Harry, what have the done to you?" The man broke down and grabbed the ex-prisoner into a hug, and cried on the unresponsive man's shoulder.

The wizarding world was in for a surprise when they would find out how they had treated their only savior.

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A/N So, what'dya think? I don't expect the total story to be very long, and I'm hoping to drop a few hints along the way as to the twist ending. I've got a few _wicked_ ideas to try out on you all. I will probably write a couple chapters, edit them to contain some hints, then post 'em. I've also edited the first chapter from it's original format, to make room for some hints. If you read it and know what's missing now, you should be able to figure the ending out by.. oh I dunno, chapter 3? depends on how long it will be. Review please!


	2. Reunion

Here it is guys, hope you enjoy.

Harry Potter and the Hospitality of Hostility chapter 2

Alastor Moody was what some would call a worldly man. He had been to sixty three countries in total, and had served in two major wars. The first, was what the muggles called WW II. (Wizards tended to call that the, 'Great War.' Wizards… so imaginative.) The second, was the rising of Voldemort. (Voldemort came up with that one, he sure had a flair for the glamorous.)

However, in all of his seventy eight years, Moody had never come across such a figure as confusing as the 'boy-who-lived.' Harry had always gotten to Moody emotionally, though it was hidden well by the old man, and the grizzled veteran never understood why he was so affected.

The man with the wooden leg, a replacement for the one that was lost in the rising of Voldemort, stared down at the boy who was curled up in the boat as it moved quickly toward the nearing shore.

"Harry…" he breathed, and felt something in his eye. He reached up with a hand and encountered liquid. Surprised, Moody wiped his eyes and muttered quietly, "Control yourself man!"

By the time the old man was composed once more, they boat had reached the small wooden dock on the coast of Scotland. The boards of the dock were dark, soaked and worn, obviously ancient. A muggle might of said, "It's magical that that thing hasn't fallen apart yet."

He gently brought the ex-prisoner to this feet, and with some trouble, got him walking. Mindlessly, with a blank stare, the dark haired man kept moving forward. After reaching solid ground, Moody called out, "Okay boy, you can stop now, take my arm."

Obligingly, the thin man reached out, puppet like and grasped Moody's arm tightly. Very tightly. Moody cursed and grunted, "looser, boy." The man relaxed his grip. Satisfied, Moody spun on the spot and appeared in front of two imposing, dark, Victorian houses.

"Right, there we are, well, I'll just take you in and then I've got some business to take care of with Dumbledore. Come on." He said to the blank-stared man. He started toward the space between 11 and 13 Grimmauld Place. A house jumped into existence as he got closer. This house was even more Gothic, if possible, than it's neighbors, whom were pushed out of the way as number 12 Grimmauld Place sprang into existence.

They entered the house quietly, and Moody closed the door with a gentle thud. He began to move toward the kitchen, wooden leg making a solid clunking noise. After a second or so, he noticed that Harry hadn't moved from his spot by the door. Exasperated, he said, "Coming boy?"

After a second, Harry started to move forward. Sighing, Moody continued on toward the kitchen. Behind him, he heard the sound of a muffled impact. Then a loud crash. A _very_ loud crash.

Whirling, he was just in time to catch the blinds in front of a certain portrait open. _Bloody _Hell thought Moody before the expected screeching and screaming commenced.

"YOU! FILTHY HALF-BLOOD, GET OUT! OUT OF MY HOUSE YOU MAGGOT! FILTHY BLOOD-TRAITORS DESPOILING MY HOUSE, MY WONDERFUL HOUSE! YOU, YOU FILTHY, FILTHY MUDBLOOD LOVERS! FILTHY, FILTHY, FILTHY, FILTHY! KREACHER, KREEEAACHER!"

Kreacher arrived promptly, and with a snap of displaced air. Ignoring Mad-eye, he turned to Mrs. Black's portrait and bowed, asking, "How can Kreacher serve Mistress Black?"

"REMOVE THESE FILTHY EXCUSES FOR WIZARDS! AT ONCE KREACHER!" bellowed the irate painted lady.

The old, leathery house elf bowed again and shuddered, saying, "Kreacher is sorry Mistress Black, but he still can't do that." Almost immediately, he ran to the wall and began to hit his head against it, wailing loudly, "Worthless defilers of my Mistress' house! Kreacher knows what should be done with all of you!"

Moody, ignoring Kreacher's insults, had marched across the hall-way and was now attempting to close the curtains in front of the offensive painting. After a few strenuous minutes, he succeeded. Wiping beads of sweat off his forehead, he headed towards the kitchen once more, righting the umbrella stand carefully. "not as bloody young as I used to be," he muttered as he passed the house elf who was still punishing himself.

He entered the kitchen, receiving a nod from Mr. Weasley, who was sitting at the table, watching the hustle and bustle of his family.

"Fred, could you grab some more pans from the cellar?" Molley Weasley asked, as several pans floated around her, magically cooking enough food to feed… a Weasley sized family.

A tall, red-haired man sighed as he stood up, saying, "I stay at the house for one day and you still make me do some work? Alright Mum. Oh, and by the way, I'm George, remember?"

"So sorry dear, Ron?, would you go get your sister? She's going to be late to work again."

"Aw, do I have to? I mean, she's 20 for Merlin's sake. Shouldn't she get up by herself?" complained a tall, lanky man with the characteristic red hair who had _The Daily Prophet_ lying in front of him. Without waiting for an answer, he folded the paper, and laid it next to his father.

As Ron was leaving the room, he noticed Moody and said, "Wotcher, Mad-Eye."

Grinning, Mad-eye growled, "Oh, talking like her now? When's the marriage?"

Blushing, Ron gaped, then said, "Moody! She's my- my teacher!" He made some good-natured retching noises before continuing on.

Still grinning, Moody said, "Eh, she's a bit short for you anyway."

Ron stopped, glanced back, revealing his blushed face, then turned back, nose high and stalked out with a humph.

Then Moody realized he didn't have his 'gift' for the Weasleys.

_Bloody Hell, again!?_ He rushed back out, past Ron, who was shouting up the stairs, "-INNNNNNYYY!, Brekkie's ready, Wake up!"

Mentally Moody berated himself, _Constance vigilance you old dolt!_ He felt like hitting his head on the wall, like Kreacher was still doing. He checked the hallway once, then twice before finally cursing, "Where in bloody hell is he!?"

Ron, who was walking back toward the kitchen, looked at Moody oddly, before calling out, "Oy, Mad-eye, you looking for me?"

Without thinking, Moody spat out, "Not you, I'm looking for Harry." After he said it, he mentally cursed again, _Bad idea Alastor, why do you always fall apart whenever Harry's around?_

There was a pause, then Ron yelled, "HARRY!?"

The house stilled. And Moody considered finding a hiding place. Then all hell- er Weasleys broke loose.

Several shouts of "Harry!" were heard from the kitchen, along with the clang of numerous kitchen implements hitting the floor. A red fury who was still apparently in nightclothes flew down the staircase, screeching something about Harry as well.

Moody dove for the curtains in front of Mrs. Black's portrait, only to find them starting to open. He grabbed both with one hand and with his wand, in the other hand, cast a permanent sticking charm on the curtains, binding them together. Ignoring the collective histrionics around him, he thoughtfully murmured, "Shoulda' thoughta' that earlier."

After everyone calmed down, a search party was organized, and they all scoured the house, even Sirius' room, which they regarded as a sanctuary and never entered. Sadly, they turned up nothing. When everyone but Mrs. Weasley and Ginny had given up searching, they met in the entrance hall again.

"Well, Alastor, where did you last see him?" asked Mr. Weasley.

Moody paused, then said, "Right in this hallway, then he hit the umbrella stand, which you really should get rid of you know?, and then that stupid portrait woke up and started screaming, so I had to shut her up. I don't remember seeing him after that…"

Since no one had any ideas, Moody harrumphed and stood up, feeling his joints creak. " I'm going to go speak to Dumbledore, he'll know what to do." He said as he headed for the door.

He looked back as he opened the door, and waved to the gathered family and walked forward- or tried to, as there was a person in the way. Surprised once again, Moody whipped his head around, to stare into a pair of dead green eyes framed by a sallow white face.

"Harry!?"

Behind him, there was another panicky rush, and the boy, who must have been standing outside in the cold for over an hour, was rushed into the parlor, and a warm fire was magicked up in the hearth. The teary reunion lasted for about fifteen minutes, until Moody's machismo took over and he grunted a goodbye, thinking, _Enough tears for me today, I shed those for others with worse fates._ And flooed away, remembered old allies and deceased foes.

"Albus, what did they do to him at Azkaban? He has to use magic just to move! I swear, every step he took, I could see his magical aura flare and strain just to move the leg!"

The old, white haired man's typical twinkle was noticeably absent from his eyes as he contemplated the conundrum that was the young man they all had to rely on. Ignoring Moody's statement about the boy's magic, Albus asked, "How is he… mentally?"

Moody let the matter with the magic drop and sighed, "Not good, Albus, not good at all. He doesn't react to anything but a direct command. And he reacts to anyone's command, Black's portrait made him leave the house when we first arrived. His stare is… dead, that the only way to describe it."

Albus leaned back in his chair, and was quiet for a minute. Then he said, in a sad voice, " I think I shall need to see Harry sometime soon."

Well, there you go, this is officially a chaptered fic so now I have to finish it. Anyway, I'd really like some reviews, and before anyone tells me, Yes, I know this is a really short chapter, and yes, I know I'm a horrible writer, just think of this as a learning experience, for me and you. Mainly me. The reason this chapter took so long is simply that I am a frequent sufferer of Writers block, and also have a chronic disease I like to call lazy couch potatoitis. I spent most of my time reading instead of writing fanfiction. Good thing is, I'm fairly certain my idea is unique.

Anyone wanna Beta for me, so far I've been checking my own chapters, since they're short, but I'm hoping to start writing longer chapters.


	3. Relapse

A/N: I've forgotten a disclaimer in my previous chapters, as I don't really expect anyone to think that anything relating to Harry Potter Canon belongs to me, but just in case, I'm not currently in the possession to the rights of Harry Potter etc

A/N: I've forgotten a disclaimer in my previous chapters, as I don't really expect anyone to think that anything relating to Harry Potter Canon belongs to me, but just in case, I'm not in the possession to the rights to Harry Potter etc. Blah Blah Blah. Anyway, I have good news and bad news,

Bad news first, I officially spend way too much time reading other people's fanfiction instead of finishing my story.

Good news, I have become fairly widely read of other people, so I become more and more certain of my plot's uniqueness. Other good news, I started this chapter way sooner than the last one, yippee!

Without further ado, I present to you,

**Harry Potter and the Hostility of Hospitality Chapter 3:**

_Albus leaned back in his chair, and was quiet for a minute. Then he said, in a sad voice, "I think I shall need to see Harry sometime soon."_

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Somewhere far away, in an enormous, dusty library, a man was hunched over a thick, old tome of arcane knowledge. The front was covered with swirling, complicated, runic designs and it appeared as if the inside was quite similar. If you understood these runes and if you had looked at page 354, the page the figure was scanning, you would of seen equations and spell designs intended to disable wards. The specific ward the page was describing was well known to members of 'The Order of the Phoenix.' It was commonly known as the Fidelius charm.

After several moments of intense concentration, the only sign the man gave of success was a bit of a grunt. He began to write in a different type of runes on a small, green muggle-produced notepad that he carried with him. He used an emerald green, muggle ball-point pen. When finished, he carefully closed the tome and said, "Return."

His voice was deep and soft. As he spoke, it almost seemed like he was singing. The book that he had been studying recently moved upon its own accord and returned to a shelf high in the air above him, slotting into a empty slot between two books and causing a plume of dust to blow out over the aisle. The books on the shelf were all old, and most were written in different languages. The aisles of books seemed to stretch far into the distance, to the horizon, with no end in sight.

He walked over to the card catalog to search for another tome of knowledge, and ran his hand through his dark hair. Sighing, he muttered, "Almost there."

--

Albus knocked politely on the door to 12 Grimmauld Place and waited, and waited, and waited some more. After about 10 minutes, a woman with flaming red hair opened it and suspiciously looked out. Her face showed signs that she had been crying quite a bit recently, and her eyes were red and puffy.

"Oh, Headmaster! I'm sorry, I should've come faster!" the woman said excitedly.

"That's okay Ms. Weasley, it's understandable under the circumstances." Dumbledore replied. "However, I would like to see Harry fairly soon, as I have many questions that need answers."

"Of course, sir, He's in Sirius' old room. Follow me please." Ginny led the way up to the third floor as the door shut behind Albus with a soft thud. Waiting outside the room, she opened the door and gestured for Dumbledore to walk in.

The old man sat down on a recently conjured, squishy chair. As he sat, it made the noise often associated with the passing of wind. Grimacing slightly, he apologized, looking for a reaction from the room's occupant out of the corner of his eye. When he got nothing, he let out a small sigh.

The object of his attention was sitting upright in a large four-poster bed, studiously examining a spot on the wall. Just to make sure, as the man seemed very entranced, Dumbledore checked to see if there was something on the wall. There wasn't.

Shaking his head, Dumbledore began talking to Harry, asking about what had happened, how he was, if he was happy to be free, what he was thinking and whether he was angry. Despite the old man's coaxing tone, there was no response forthcoming.

After nearly twenty minutes of a one-sided conversation, Albus sighed, about his hundredth in the last five minutes and said, "Harry, my boy, please come here, I think it would be best to examine you to see if you are in decent health."

The man quietly, mindlessly obeyed, and as he moved, Albus saw what Alastor had mentioned, the magic centered in the quiet man moved into the limbs as the moved, making them perform what was asked. When Harry got close enough to Albus, Dumbledore stood up and said, "Are you in pain anywhere Mr. Potter?"

As expected, there was no response. Dumbledore sighed and cast some diagnostic charms to see what was wrong. The charms impacted upon the quiet man and amazingly, were absorbed, making the magic attached to his thin frame grow slightly.

Dumbledore's eyes widened. His mouth made a small 'o' shape in surprise. He tried another harmless charm, and the same thing happened.

Albus shifted into scientist mode, he cast a mild transfiguration spell, intended to change the object of his studies into a Gorilla. This time, the spell was absorbed and the magical 'pool' grew to an extremely large size. Intrigued, Albus tried a low level jinx. It hit, was absorbed, and the room suddenly smelt of ozone, as a large electrical charge was released. The walls, floor and ceiling were scorched. The bed turned black and crumbled into a small pile of dust. The door flew out into the hallway, impacting upon the opposite wall with a large bang. The armchair that Albus had conjured got sucked into the magical maelstrom that had been created and was converted to magical energy that simply increased the destruction.

Dumbledore was lucky to be alive. It had happened so fast, he barely had time to react. He had conjured an earthen dome to protect him from the abomination that had been created. After about a minute, he let the shield down, and checked on Harry again.

Despite almost being killed, all Dumbledore said was, "Very intriguing, Harry, that was quite like the effect of a lightning bolt mixed with a bomb. Yes, quite interesting." The still silent and apparently unscathed man was simply standing there, in the exact same position as before. The only difference was that his magical core was back to its original size.

It was then that he heard the shouts of the Weasley family as they ran toward the source of the loud noise and shockwave that had shaken the house. After placating the family by insisting that both himself and the man they all were worried about were fine, he left to record the results of his experience.

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Well... shortest chapter yet, I'm not proud of that, but luckily, I am almost done planning out the plot and simply have to write it out now.

Did I make the explosion exciting enough? I'm really trying to hint at how this will turn out without simply telling you. The only problem is that my idea is so wild that it will be hard to get unless you have about ten more major hints.

Here's a major one, If you'll check, the man released from prison has only been referred to as Harry by people… ponder on that. (If you find a place where this isn't true, please, please tell me so that it can be fixed.)

Oh, and I would love a critical review of my story and writing style, if some feels like attempting to improve upon my ridiculous lack of skill.

R&R please.


	4. Return

**Harry Potter and the Hostility of Hospitality Chapter 4**

The most feared man in all of England reclined back in his large throne. The stately chair was made of a dark, almost pitch-black onyx, and looking at it would send waves of fear down anyone's spine. Then again that might have been due to it's occupant. The arms of the throne were gilded with gold, and flickered as if they were lit by a nearby candle, even when none was present. The back of the throne arced away on both sides, like the malevolent wings of an arch-demon.

The man upon the throne was quite pale. His veins and arteries showed up distinctly on his skin, almost as if there was no pigment. He was unnaturally tall, reaching almost 3 meters, yet somehow maintained an air of graceful balance. His height wasn't the only thing elongated, his fingers were as well. In these artfully extended fingers on his right hand, rested an object of great power, a wand, but not just any wand, no, not even Voldemort's wand, it was Harry Potter's wand, the boy-who-lived-to-be-imprisoned. What ironic revenge, to take over the world with it's savior's wand. Voldemort couldn't help but congratulate himself upon that achievement, but he couldn't help congratulating himself on breathing either, it was a difficult task after all wasn't it?

His eyes, once brown and dashing, now were slitted and murky red, reminiscent of the other occupant of the throne, a large pale blue and green snake that was wrapped around the back of the chair and Voldemort himself. The eyes of both master and familiar glowed with evil intent. The red light produced was terrifying, and awe-inspiring at the same time. His face was flat, without a nose , simply slits for breathing, the only disfiguring factor of his makeup, and his skull was bare of all hair. His robes were a deep forest green, and had highlights of silver in such a way that they were only visible if he moved.

He was surrounded by a circle of about 11 people, all clothed in deep black cloaks, with silver masks covering any facial features. The masks were fashioned into grotesque smiles, some with fangs and horns, others with sewed together mouths and eyes. The masks reflected off the poor lighting of the chamber, giving them an ethereal quality. All eleven servants were kneeling, waiting for their summons to stand.

In the silence, Voldemort spoke, "Rise my servants, and prepare yourselves."

Wordlessly, the group rose as one, and bowed their heads in reverence.

"Fox, begin." called out the dark lord, using a code-name that would throw off any traitors who attempted to infiltrate the group or to eavesdrop on them.

One figure, whose mask had a snout and the ears of a fox and appeared to be rabid lifted his head and began to speak. There was an odd double-voice effect, produced by the mask to further prevent those present from identifying the man speaking.

"My lord, I have bad news to bring you. While I was able to completely control the Minister's guard, and therefore gain access to him, he managed to resist my Imperious enough to throw off our plans. He released Potter just yesterday and I didn't find out that he had escaped my spell until this morning when I went to renew it. Potter has been removed to a place of safety, and the minister does not know where."

The figure again lowered his head and stepped back, indicating he had no further information. He mentally prepared for chastisement at his failure. It came soon enough, but without it's usual intensity. After only 5 seconds of pain, he was released form the curse's hold.

"See that you do not fail so irreparably again Fox, let this be a lesson to you, laziness will have no place in my new world order."

"Now, speak, Fiend."

A second figure raised it's head and his horns and split tongue were distinctly visible, his voice rasped and seemed as if it were dragged across metal as it came out. "We now have 5 agents inside the Department of Mysteries. As of yet, we haven't found a way around their oaths of silence, but we have one more plan that's being attempted as we speak. Even if it fails, our takeover should be close to complete in little over two weeks."

"Much better news, much better. Now, have any others of you information?"

None stepped forward to speak, so Voldemort continued, "Good, good, well my friends, we, and by we I mean I, have made an important breakthrough on finishing off the Order. Shortly, we will be preparing to assault a location that they have thought to be impenetrable for too long. I will call you when the raid begins. Now, begone, and continue your previous tasks."

The minions left, leaving the Dark Lord to brood over the loss of his trophy, the boy-who-lived. He had been able to remove him at any time before, but he had not felt the need. He remembered his first visit to everyone's favorite inmate, as it was during the first siege of Hogwarts.

He stalked down the hallway, and prisoners drew back, into the corners of their cells, almost as if he was a dementor. He stopped with a sudden jerk and simply stared at one small boy. the boy lay there, unresponsive and uncaring. The dark lord used his magic to force the child upright, and brought the boy's head up. Then, he stared into faded green eyes, and dived in. He found himself bombarded by images of intense pain and sadness.

_Darkness, total darkness, he could feel the cupboard walls closing in. _Suddenly, the memory morphed seamlessly into that of a woman screaming, and Voldemort saw a familiar flash of green light. It changed to Sirius Black slowly falling backwards into a veil, but his face was contorted into a scream of agony. Voldemort tore himself away with a start.

"Well... you're already insane aren't you... my boy."

He cackled with pleasure, no longer would he fear this prophesied hero. the hero obviously couldn't even clean himself, let alone lift a wand in attack. he let his magic go, and watched as the body fell to the ground and hit it's head with a loud crack. laughing even more maniacally, he stalked out, leaving a wave of prisoners cowering behind him.

He also remembered the siege and how that hadn't succeeded. Well, in the taking control of the castle part, but his original thrust had stuck deep into enemy territory and stolen one person thought well protected. He had enjoyed ripping the prophecy out of that bitch's head, and made sure to do it as painfully as possible, tearing out the sanity along with it. Voldemort laughed again, as he realized that the count of people who had lost their sanity due to his actions now totaled 334.

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A shaft of moonlight pierced though the night, illuminating a spot on the floor in a darkened room. The shaft seemed to center on a small ball-like figure crouching in the far corner of the room. There was a stillness in the air that can only be found at night. Suddenly, in the middle of the beam of light, a darkness appeared. It seemed to be swirling, and grew larger and more elliptical quickly. The light seemed to warp around it as if it wasn't really there.

As soon as it was the size of a man, one stepped out. His dark, wild hair was a hint as to his name, but the gleam of emeralds in his eyes cinched it. He leaned over the figure, and whispered something in it's ear. The figure stood up, like a stiff, unbending tree and stared straight ahead. Then, the green eyed man leaned over, and tapped an intricate sequence on the left leg. After he finished, the leg opened with a pop, and a small compartment was revealed. He took a bit of string from his pocket and put it in, then closed the leg. The standing figure still didn't react. Moving on, the man reached for the figure's throat, and did a similar intricate motion, revealing a hollow. He took a thin piece of metal from his pocket, pointed it at his throat, and then whispering something, he drew it away,then pointed it at the cavity in the neck of the figure and closed the hole .

"All set then eh?" He mumbled to himself. Then, he heard a sound of someone stumbling in the hall way and quickly darted back into his waiting vortex, and was gone.

The door to the room opened, and A small figure stumbled in, Holding a lit wand in her hand.

"Harry, are you awake?" came the soft voice. The girl stopped upon seeing the figure standing up in the moonlight, but after several moments of nothing happening, she approached further, and examined the rigid man. His eyes were turned toward the window with light streaming in, and he seemed to be focusing on the moon. The red haired woman moved closer, then hugged the still man fiercely.

"Oh, Harry, what's wrong? you know you can talk to us!" cried Ginny, for Ginevra Weasley it was. She cried her self to sleep after a while, still hugging the mannequin of Harry Potter. Unbeknownst to her, after she fell asleep, the vortex came back, and a head stuck out, with the distinctive traits, and smiled softly, but sadly at the scene.

"Soon, soon it will all be over, don't fret, my love." He whispered, then withdrew.


	5. Remember

**Harry Potter and the Hostility of Hospitality Chapter 5**

It was dark. The street lamps were dim, feebly illuminating the scene before them. Several men in dark cloaks were circled around the gap between two houses. They were quietly chanting a continuos mantra, and slightly in front of them stood a tall man, wearing a dashing, blood red cape. He was smiling and his eyes, red as that of a flame, indicated how dangerous he really was.

Suddenly, with seemingly no provocation, he also began to chant. His voice rose louder than his fellows and pierced the night air unnaturally. He did not repeat himself, but finished, and stood, waiting.

Out of nowhere, a house seemed to grow out of the ground ,pushing the nearby houses away. It was old, decrepit and seemed to be about to fall in on itself.

The tall man gracefully stepped to the door, then knocked twice.

No one answered.

The man sighed and said, "No manners... the filth." He then proceeded to blow the door of it's hinges. From inside, suddenly screeches could be heard, with words like blood traitors and mudbloods. The man walked calmly into the house and a few seconds later, the scream ended abruptly, in a gout of flame. When the flame dissipated, there was a smoldering portrait resting in the street. It was quiet again for a few more seconds, then the night erupted in nights and yells and screams. Latin was flung about like mud in a mud-wrestling match and the other men quickly filed in after their leader.

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Calmly, Voldemort opened the door to the room. He stepped in. There was his prey. The man was still staring at the window.

"Harry Potter, I finally have you. What say we finish this sordid series of events once and for all? Oh wait, you never talk, I forgot-"

The figure whirled with superhuman speed, and crouched. His arms darted to his leg and began moving intricately. The simulacrum opened it's mouth wide, and a voice came out.

"Ah, my good friend Tom Riddle. How nice it is to see you. Terribly sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to wait a second, as I'm busy at the moment, however, if you could come back later..."

Voldemort had drawn back at the first movement, and was thoroughly confused now. When he became confused however, he always had a solution ready.

"Avada Kedavra!" He yelled confidently. The green light shot out, hit the man in front of him in the right leg, and it exploded. However, before the light had hit, the left leg had opened up, and the figure had extracted a piece of blue string.

The foot exploded, blasting fragments in every direction. One flew right at Voldemort's face, and barely missed, gouging a cut into the area just above his left ear. The simulacrum on the ground leaped forward, clutching Voldemort's arm.

"I thought not, fine then, come into my office." the voice from the simulacrum said, and at the word 'office' the two were whisked away in a howling of wind. Soon after they disappeared, several people barged in through the door, ready to fight to the death. They did not however expect for their to be nothing there

**---------**

Harry Potter strode down the corridor, stepped into the circular room and waited. The door behind him closed, and the room's walls whirled around in a confusing spiral, finally coming to a rest. Harry, purposely walked to one door, took out a card and placed it against the surface.

The card turned green after a second, and the door's lock clicked open. The man opened the portal, and stepped through, closing it behind. He found himself in a room slightly larger than the size of an office cubicle. There the opposite end, there was a clear door. Behind it, there stood a man, dressed in rich, red finery, with a figure attached to it's arm. The tall man was trying valiantly to shake off the human-life figure, but to no avail. He raised his wand and mouthed something, but a puff of color was all the erupted from the tip of the wand, and was quickly drawn towards the walls.

Harry sat down in a chair, and watched for about a minute. Then, he pressed a button on the wall, and said in a loud clear voice, "What do you think of my office, Tom?"

The figure in the cell paused, then turned and looked around until Harry pressed another button, which made the glass see through from the inside and allowed sound to escape.

Voldemort turned his piercing, murderous gaze to the man who had foiled him at every attempt since that fateful night.

"You..."

Harry smiled brightly and said, "Yes, me. And before you try anything stupid, you won't find a way out of this cell. It drains all magic off into it's wards. If you could somehow muster enough energy to cast a spell destructive enough to do physical damage, it would repair itself instantaneously. You should be proud, this cell has been in construction for over 30 years, and you get to be the first occupant."

Harry paused, and then with a calculated look of surprise, said, "Oh, that reminds me."

Harry took out his odd metal wand and started a chant, and finished it in about 10 seconds, ignoring Voldemort's angry ranting.

"Done. Wanna know what that was?" he asked patronizingly.

"That was a modified Fidelius Charm. Guess who knows where you are now? Or better yet, that you ever even existed."

Voldemort seemed lost, and kept wandering around, bumping into walls. "Who am I?, Where am I?" He asked, confused.

Harry chortled and spoke again, "Well, that worked even better than I had expected. Now no one will ever remember you, any of your names, what you have done or where you are now. Checkmate, Voldieshorts, Checkmate."

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A/N . This is it for Harry Potter and the Hostility of Hospitality. I have a few pages of writing that would accompany this story well, that I might upload sometime, but for now, we'll leave it at that. Hope you enjoyed it, I know it's not the best, but it might be a good 15 minute read that was interesting. Check back later for more goodies.


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